saint-louise's Diaryland Diary
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Dogs barking. Can't fly without umbrella.
One of the security team members for my office building caught me talking to the muffin in my purse this morning.
I tried to tell myself that perhaps he thought I was all spy neato-cool, talking into a hidden phone and some junk, but let's not fool ourselves, shall we?
a) It is a physical impossibility for me to be cool, in any way, at any time, on any parallel plane.
And,
b) The monologue with the muffin went something like this: "You will NOT be a squishy muffin. Do you hear me? No squishy muffins allowed. Do you want me to eat you or not?"
If that's spy code-talk for some covert government organization somewhere, I really, really want a gig writing for them.
How's this: 'They aren't grey pants. They're black. They're just faded. And that's totally not as tacky as wearing a black shirt with grey pants.' Code for: 'Missiles armed. Fire at will.' Spoken into a potted plant near the salad bar at Chuckwagon.
What? Too obvious?
11:00 a.m. - 2003-02-13
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